A Ghost from the Past (11x17)
by nightmares06
Summary: A familiar face comes to visit Sam when he's lying on Death's door, only he's looking a little… shorter than normal.
1. Chapter 1

_A familiar face comes to visit Sam when he's lying on Death's door, only he's looking a little… shorter than normal._

((Warning: Spoilers ahead for the latest episode of Supernatural. 11 x 17: Red Meat. Read at your own risk! See below for further notes about Dean.))

* * *

Sam coughed as his body seized up.

Opening his eyes in that moment was one of the hardest actions he'd ever done, but he _did it._ He fought for every inch and clung to life.

"You are one tough sonovabitch to kill."

The tiny voice tickled the edge of his mind. Sam ignored it. Memories were coming back to him. Getting shot. Hauling ass through the forest with Dean and two vics before telling Dean to go on without him.

Dean never would, but Sam needed to try.

Then, the part that had caught even Sam, a seasoned hunter, off guard. The person he was trying to save, turning on him the moment Dean was out of sight. A hand on his mouth, suffocating him on his own breath.

Spotting the bite mark on the man's arm.

With the memories flooding back, Sam knew what he needed to do.

"I know I call you Sasquatch a lot, but man, I had no idea you were _this_ big."

Sam pushed everything else out of his mind. Pressure. He needed pressure over the wound. He didn't know how long he'd been out or how much blood he'd lost. His body might be on the edge of bleeding out from the bullet wound left unchecked.

Blood covered his entire front, reinforcing those fears.

Sam held down the bloodstained cloth on his stomach with one large hand, breathing heavily as he pulled himself off the ground. Aside from that persistently familiar voice that refused to let him slide into unconsciousness and oblivion, the cabin was still and silent. Dean was gone, the victims were gone, there was no sign of any other werewolves…

 _Corbin's a werewolf!_

Sam went to push himself up and stand. He needed to warn Dean. Had to-

Any thoughts in his mind fled as he saw where the familiar little voice was coming from as it piped up yet again.

"Need a hand with that?"

" _Dean?!_ "

A ghost from his past was sitting up on the counter, watching him.

The man couldn't have been more than four inches tall if he was standing straight. A familiar leather jacket from years past, a duffel bag slung over a shoulder, spiked dark blond hair that was longer and more casual than the way Dean styled it now and a cocky grin to make it all feel so, so wrong…

It was like he was looking at Dean through a mirror of ten years in the past. Before the apocalypse, before losing Bobby and Cas… the little guy before him didn't have the weight of the world making his shoulders slump down. He lacked the grim countenance Sam had grown so adjusted to. A tiny amulet glimmered around his neck, something Sam knew was long gone.

And he was the size of a finger.

The moment Sam's eyes landed on him at long last, the little guy scrambled to his feet and away from the edge of the counter, a wary look falling over his face.

This didn't last. Once Sam, his chest heaving from the exertion and surprise, froze in place, Dean relaxed.

The tiny-Dean stuck his hands casually in his jacket pockets and defied reality just by existing.

"But…" Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to work his way through everything that had happened. Being lightheaded from blood loss wasn't helping his focus. "Dean left. I _know_ he did. It's the only thing he could have done if he wanted to save those two. So who are you, really? A shapeshifter? Some kind of fae?" His hand strayed to the silver knife he had in his jacket, one he was saving for the other werewolves the vics had said were lurking in the forest.

Dean looked offended. "Dude, you did _not_ just call me a fairy." The flat look from the tiny-Dean threw Sam off even more. It really was _just_ like his brother. Dean went on. "You try spilling salt in front of me, I'm kicking it at you, injured or not."

"Then, whu-" Sam was starting to have a hard time catching his breath. The gunshot wound vied for his attention once more. He needed to see to that if he wanted to survive.

Dean's face softened, and Sam found himself marveling that even under four inches tall, he could read his brother like a book. "Tell ya what. I'll answer your questions if you let me stitch you up. Fair?"

Sam nodded, hesitant. "Fair."

He tore his eyes away from the tiny hunter that must be some kind of hallucination brought on by his loss of blood to peer at his wound. It was only getting worse.

Then he looked back up and almost gasped in shock again, if he'd had the energy to. "Dean!"

The young, tiny version of his older brother was dropping down from the high countertop on his own with a black thread. A strangely protective feeling rose up in Sam that he didn't expect, considering there was no way this strange apparition was his brother. Yet he was the reason the guy was risking his tiny _neck_ on some foolhardy stunt. Sam went to reach for Dean and help him down.

When his hand was in range, it got kicked. A little boot scuffed the edge of his knuckle. "Watch it!" Dean griped in annoyance.

Sam dropped his hand away, too caught off guard to think of a comeback and too weirded out by the tiny kick to just grab the guy off the thread. A trickle of amusement snuck its way between the pain of his injury and the fear that it wasn't his brother in the room with him.

"But, Dean…" Sam still needed to protest. "You're afraid of _heights_." He figured it was a fair assessment after knowing Dean his entire life.

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation as his boots touched ground on the scuffed wooden surface of the floor. He stepped back, flicked his black thread, and jostled the hook free from the counter above. All of this was done with practiced ease right up until the tiny guy caught the hook. Dean wrapped the thread around one arm as he stepped closer to his relatively giant brother. Even his walk was the familiar swagger, bowlegs and all, just on a scale where he could walk casually across a hand instead of across a room. "I've been doing this for _years,_ Sam, I think I can handle it."

"You're not Dean," Sam insisted, trying to sidle away from the tiny man like he was poison. His mind clung to the grim image of Dean the way he'd been before they parted ways.

Not to mention that fear of heights that had never quite left him.

Dean stopped in his tracks. The wary, fearful expression from earlier was gone, replaced by only sadness and concern. "You're right. Your Dean is with those victims right now. He's going to get them help, just like _you_ need help."

Those tiny green eyes were so _familiar_ as they bored through Sam. It didn't matter that they were so small he could block their owner from sight with a single move. He was caught in that gaze like a net.

"I might not be your Dean, and hell. You're _definitely_ not my Sam." Dean held out a tiny hand and hovered it above his head with a wry grin, approximating Sam's height if they were on the same scale.

Definitely not the same.

"But I _am_ Dean, and you _are_ Sam and I'm not letting my little brother down. Not now, not ever, not even in some twisted funhouse mirror version of my world where your ass is obnoxiously huge. Sam…" He trailed off for a second and had to swallow dryly. "I saw you lying on the ground and you looked dead. I can't… I just can't let that happen. Even if it's just a dream."

"So, what…" Sam managed to croak out. "You're just some miniaturized version of my brother that decided to pop in and say 'Hi?' "

Dean shrugged. "You got me. Last I remember I was asleep on the bookshelf and you were flopped on the shirt fast asleep not far away. Taking up as much space as you can, just like normal. Then I wake up and see you, extra large." He waved around at the cabin. "I wasn't holding much hope that you were my Sam with the curse broken."

"Curse?" This time when Sam took in the sight of the tiny hunter, it was like he was seeing him for the first time. "So you're… trapped that size, aren't you?"

Dean grabbed the fabric of Sam's bloodied shirt, making the larger hunter stiffen in place. "I've learned to deal with it," he pointed out. "Now shaddup and let me patch you up. _Someone's_ gonna need to go haul the other me's handsome ass out of whatever fire he manages to fall into."

Sam was silent while the tiny man climbed up his side. As fevered and exhausted as he was, it was undeniably fascinating to see a tiny version of his older brother using him to climb up. Tiny hands and boots dug into his side for support, and Dean's body was so light Sam might have missed it if he wasn't watching close.

Dean reached the wound, and directed Sam to remove his hand. Used to following Dean's direction, Sam did as he was told. They both winced at the sight of the torn skin. Dean - _Sam's_ Dean, the larger of the Deans, had already removed the bullet before leaving with the victims. Before one of the victims had tried to kill Sam. Good thing, too. The newer, smaller Dean might not be able to _reach_ the bullet inside Sam with his tiny arms.

Not that Sam was about to start underestimating the little guy _now_.

The bullet hole was no longer oozing blood when Sam lifted the fabric from it, but enough caked his stomach and chest that Dean was practically trudging through it while he came up to the wound. His tiny boots were instantly bloodstained.

"You might want to close your eyes," Dean warned Sam. "This _will_ hurt."

Sam's question died on his lips as Dean held up his hook and thread.

He knew exactly what Dean was thinking. There were no other options.

That didn't mean he'd enjoy it.

The hook sliced into the skin of his stomach. Dean's arms were instantly coated with blood as he worked but he didn't falter as Sam sucked in a gasp. He drew the metal through the skin with steady hands and more strength than should be possible at his size. He wasn't deterred by the quivering flesh under his boots or the sheen of sweat that mixed with the slick blood.

Even though they were from different worlds, that was still _his_ Sam.

By the time Dean reached the end and was pulling the hook through one last time, Sam was holding his breath for fear of sending Dean sprawling at a crucial juncture. Dean pulled the black thread taut, then sliced his hook free with an equally tiny knife.

Both brothers let out a sigh of relief as he finished. The bloodied little hook was tucked into the leather duffel bag that hung over his shoulder. Dean was smug as he brushed his blood stained hands off. "And _that,_ boys and girls, is how you stitch up Godzi-"

The sound of a truck pulling up to the house came.

Dean was swept off his feet by a huge hand before he could utter another word. Sam, fueled solely by adrenaline and newly put together, was on his feet in an instant. The little hunter in his hand was sent tumbling during the rapid movement.

The hand holding his tiny, _younger_ big brother cradled the other man protectively close while his other hand fell on his own silver knife. The blade alone was three times the length of Dean's little body and the surprised griping in his hand cut off at the sight.

Sam glanced down and saw Dean with a deer-in-headlights look on his face, directed towards the knife. A knot of guilt formed in Sam's stomach as he remembered how wary the tiny guy had been before.

"Think you can watch my back?" Sam whispered to his tiny-Dean, lifting him up. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the little guy that was trying his damndest to _save_ Sam.

Dean nodded, his tiny nervous greens meeting Sam's emotional hazels. He seemed to draw strength from that look and brandished his own knife, a twin to Sam's that shone like silver. "Shoulder."

Sam grinned and lifted Dean to where he indicated. The little guy scrambled onto his shoulder, hands and legs finding purchase on the thick canvas of the jacket. He settled in the crook of Sam's neck like it was the place he was supposed to be.

And it felt _right._

"We got this," Dean said, his voice full of determination. A tiny hand rested against the side of Sam's neck. Sam's feral grin matched the one Dean wore on his face, and he stumbled to the side. He needed to get under cover to catch the werewolves off guard.

Sam had Dean back at his side and they were ready to face the monsters. It might not be the Dean he'd grown up with, but it was a Dean and together they were a team.

Come _whatever._

 **FIN**

* * *

 **A/N**

So we can file this under 'Random bursts of inspiration that happen when I watch Supernatural'

This latest episode was so sad and had me almost in tears, and I just couldn't resist writing out a little short story where Dean comes to help Sam while canon Dean gets those victims to safety. He just needed to help his little brother, even though Sam isn't so 'little' anymore, and technically, this Dean is the younger of the two.

Oh, and for anyone who's wondering, the tiny Dean that appears here is one and the same with the Dean from my _Brothers Lost_ story that's coming soon! I just love how he handles being small, and he's probably one of my favorite characters to write. Ever since starting _Brothers Asunder_ I've been going through withdrawals.

If you want to see a peek of what's planned in the future with this tiny, 3.8 inch Dean (Sam is the lucky one. He gets to be a full 4 inches tall), check out the sneak peeks on my tumblr page, brothersapart()tumblr()com.

Dean is _very_ wary around Sam in this. He's always lived with the thought that hunters would go after people like him, so despite the fact that he knows the man before him is an alternate version of his little brother, he also knows that this Sam is a veteran hunter. There was no way of knowing how Sam would react once he saw Dean up there.

Hope you enjoyed the story! It's a short little one, but I love it so :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

It's been some time since the last part came out, but I finally put down on paper what was in my head when I first envisioned this story! Thank you to Heroofthe13thDay, AlphaWolfOfRed67, sabidoche, Christine, 3rd Bookworm and Icy Icee for the support in the first crazy chapter!

* * *

Dean let his fingers thread through into the collar of Sam's jacket. It was a familiar, instinctive motion.

He hadn't quite come to terms with the sight of the other hunter, but those hazel eyes left no room for doubt in his mind.

This man might be _older_ than Dean, and a _hell_ of a lot taller, but he _was_ Sam.

As little sense as it made.

In the weird understanding foisted upon Dean by the dream, he also understood there was another him, one forced by circumstances to leave Sam to his fate.

Thinking he was dead.

If it was the last thing Dean did, he was going to make sure the other-him got his Sam back.

Whether they were older than him or not, whether they were _giants_ or not, they were still Sam and Dean and they belonged by each other's side.

Just like Dean and his Sam, waiting for him back at Bobby's. Sleeping peacefully on their shelf while Jacob slumbered on, oblivious to the fact that the cursed brothers had chosen his room to sleep in.

His grip tightened on Sam's collar as the huge hunter stumbled again. A huge rush of air passed Sam's lips as he breathed heavily. The bullet wound, even stitched up by Dean's precise motions, was taking a lot out of him.

Dean put his hand against Sam's neck, offering what support he could. There was no way for him to toss an arm over his neck and support the hunter like he _should_. Like he'd do for his own Sam.

Sam had to do this on his own.

Most of the hunter's movements were easy to predict. Sidling up to the window. Lifting one massive hand up to peer out of the curtains.

Dean couldn't stop himself from tensing up on Sam's shoulder at that. The sight of that hand served to remind him that he was with a _hunter_ , and one that he didn't know past the last few minutes. For years Walt had cautioned both cursed brothers about hunters. They were too small to properly defend themselves, and because they were different than humans, were classified as "supernatural," and therefore dangerous.

This Sam was something else altogether, and Dean shivered at the impression his own doppelganger had given him, those hardened green eyes shouting danger. They were older, grimmer than he thought possible. A mirror reflection of himself and Sam as a pair of hardened, full-sized hunters. The first glance from Sam left no doubt in Dean's mind. They _would_ kill him if he turned out to be dangerous.

Despite all that, he couldn't just leave Sam on the ground bleeding out.

No matter what, that was _his_ little brother.

For the moment, Dean peered outside with the hunter. His sharp green eyes could see through the thick darkness that blanketed the world outside with better clarity than any human alive. Growing up in the dark walls of the _Trails West_ motel had provided a boon all its own.

"Two of them," Dean said in a low mumble. He was crouched down directly beneath Sam's ear. There was no way a hunter on high alert would miss his small voice from so close. "One man, one woman."

Sam nodded, the visible edge of his lips a thin line. A droplet of sweat the size of Dean's hand fell from his chin. Dean almost had to step back to be able to see Sam's eyes.

Those hazel eyes were harsh and intent compared to the Sam that Dean remembered. If a gaze like that landed on Dean and he _didn't_ know the person looking at him, it would set off every instinct he had. Sam would be gone before there was even a chance for them to spot him.

In fact, that was exactly what happened the first time this new Sam saw Dean, before he insisted on stitching up the larger hunter.

In the brief moments before Sam was able to fully awaken, Dean had tried coaxing him out of his delirium with soothing words. When that failed, he'd tried a combination of brotherly teasing and snark, declaring himself triumphant when Sam had hauled himself up with a gasp of breath.

Then those eyes landed on Dean and his first instinct was to get _away_ from the hunter looking at him.

Luckily for them both, Sam hadn't tried to snatch at Dean or attack him. Just talked, and then let Dean stitch him up, the tiny older brother… or at least, he was going to keep saying he was the older brother, no matter how old this Sam might be in reality… up to his elbows in blood and gore to sew up that gaping hole. A hit like that would kill Dean and leave nothing behind.

Dean didn't know for sure what the older hunter thought about all that was going on, but he had a feeling that Sam was past the point of questioning it. He had spent the entire time since the victims and the other-Dean left the cabin on the brink between life and death.

Sam took a shuddering breath, and pushed himself away from the window as the dark figures approached the house. Dean had to remove his hand from Sam's neck, clutching tight to the hunter's collar as the older man stumbled to the basement stairs.

His life was strange.

This was nothing like what Dean had ever expected hunting to be like. He'd always imagined taking his gun and his knife and taking down the bad guy himself. Now, he was clearly too small for that. Either werewolf could take him down with a single hand if they noticed him.

But they couldn't take his _Sam_ down that easily, and that gave Dean a weapon against them. He just needed to point Sam in the right direction.

After the harrowing trip down the stairs, where Dean was sharply reminded of exactly why he hated heights, they found themselves in a basement with a thick covering of dust and plenty of cover.

With Dean's help, Sam found a place to hunker down. The hunter blended into the background, fading away better than Dean would ever expect someone the size of a Sasquatch to be able to do. There was no way their Jacob could do the same with as much grace. The kid was closer to a freight train, his footsteps alone making more noise than this new Sam did while he held a hand to his stomach, breathing heavily.

The two brothers sat down there for an indeterminate amount of time, both staring up at the ceiling over their heads with wide eyes and waiting to see if they werewolves figured out they weren't alone in the house. Dean was reminded of all the times under the floorboards with his own Sam, watching and waiting for the humans above to finish what they were doing and leave, that way it was safe for the brothers to leave.

Now, he had a human with him, but still they weren't safe. A werewolf found his way to the basement, the stairs squealing under a booted foot. Dean smiled grimly. For all his size, Sam was better at concealment than a werewolf. They'd never see him coming.

The hunter held out his knife as the monster sniffed around the basement. It was close; a swipe from the werewolf tossed Dean from Sam's shoulder when the hunter lunged forward. Dean caught a hand on the back of Sam's jacket, clinging desperately to the coarse fabric.

The body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud, and Sam glanced desperately around. "Dean?!" he called out, his voice hushed.

The amount of fear in that voice caught Dean off guard. Despite everything else, he'd feared that even after his help Sam would decide he was too much of a threat. A tiny, non-human version of his older brother that clearly didn't belong. Yet from the sound of things, Sam worried for Dean the same as Dean worried for Sam.

"I'm right here!" Dean called, his voice too quiet to have to worry about the volume. He worked his fingers out of the fabric threads, and climbed hand over hand slowly towards the peak of Sam's shoulder.

A bloodstained hand reached towards Dean as Sam twisted painfully around. Dean accepted the help, staring disdainfully at the blood that stained his and his brother's clothing and boots. Not to mention his climbing string was gone, used to stitch up Sammy.

Sam pulled his hand around and hovered it in front of his face, far closer than Dean was prepared. The worry in those hazel eyes was clear.

Dean shoved at Sam's nose. "Little personal space?" he griped, though there was no actual venom in his voice, simply relieved to see the worry reflected back at him.

"I thought I'd lost you for a second there," Sam gasped out, ignoring Dean's grumpy words. A huge finger touched against Dean's shoulder. "Be careful, okay? I need someone to watch my back out here."

Dean smirked. "Whatever you say, Sasquatch."

Sam held his hand back up to his shoulder and Dean scrambled up, taking his position and holding his knife out. "We'll make them regret messing with us and those vics," Dean declared optimistically.

A half-smile haunted Sam's face at the unusual optimism. "We will."

The second werewolf went down easier, and this time Dean got a slice of his own on the monster when a clawed hand went for Sam's vulnerable neck. He angrily struck out with his silver blade, making the werewolf draw back in confusion and pain, staring at the tiny figure crouched on the hunter with eyes that were almost all pupil to see in the darkness.

A lot like Dean's were.

That did her no good. The moment of distraction from the sight of the tiny man was what did her in. Sam's blade sank between her ribs, doing far more damage than Dean's little blade. The light left her eyes and she slumped to the ground, following her partner into death.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Sam pushed the woman's body off of him so he could stand. Dean could feel the weakness quivering below the surface.

"Sam..." Dean said hesitantly. "Maybe you should rest..."

Sam shook his head, almost jarring Dean from his shoulder. " _No,_ " he gritted out. "Gotta find Dean. He might need help. The victim... the man... he got bit. He's a fucking _werewolf_ and Dean doesn't know."

Dean silently digested that revelation, remembering the sight of his doppelganger as he cradled his little brother's body. Thinking Sam was dead, and unable to even mourn him because he needed to save the victims.

One of whom wasn't a victim.

Dean's resolve hardened to match Sam's.

"We'll just have to take care of it for him, then," he determined.

With that thought held between them, Sam made his way out of the house. He limped, and from time to time Dean thought the sway in his gait would throw them both to the ground. Sam was weak, and the hole in his gut was doing him no favors.

But Dean was out there, and they both knew that he was counting on them.

The trip through the forest went better than Dean expected. Dean helped direct Sam to the truck the werewolves had taken to the abandoned shack, and watched his older little brother steal it without a second thought. They found the road, and pointed the truck unerringly towards it. The Impala was calling them home.

When the Impala was in sight, and Dean saw her in her full glory, all black and chrome and blending into the night as though she belonged, he let out a heartfelt sigh that match Sam's.

One day, _his_ Impala would look the same. It might take a little time, but he'd find a way to restore her to her former glory.

Sam hauled himself in and the car started up with the most reassuring growl in the world, welcoming them both home.

* * *

Reaching the hospital at last, Dean almost curled into a ball as Sam dragged himself out of the car, a gun with silver bullets in it clutched in his hands. He was afraid of being spotted, both by normal passerby and by the other version of himself. What if he was seen as a threat? There was a good chance Dean would lash out before Sam could explain.

He needn't have worried.

The older, full-sized Winchester was in the middle of a brawl with the last werewolf, trying to scramble away from the thick black claws. Sam's gun roared to life, leaving the Dean on his shoulder to cover his ears against the percussive blast of sound.

The werewolf collapsed, leaving Sam and Dean staring wide-eyed at each other across the hall.

The tiny Dean on Sam's shoulder felt a strange sensation in his middle. He put his hand against Sam's neck one last time. His time here was over. He could feel it.

"Make sure to keep an eye on Dean for me, okay?" he said as sternly as he could. "Always watch out for each other."

At that moment, the full-sized Dean's eyes landed on Sam's shoulder, widening at the sight of another-him.

Dean never heard a reply from Sam as the world faded around him, leaving the two normal-sized Winchesters on their own to figure things out.

Like they always did.

* * *

Dean woke with a gasp.

Sam glanced up from where he was reading over his journal under the bookshelf, one eyebrow raised. "Nightmare?" he inquired calmly.

Dean stared at him, barely able to believe his eyes that _his_ little brother was back, all bright-eyed and innocent, his fluffy brown hair so much shorter than that older, grimmer Sam's.

"You... I..." Dean stumbled over a few answers, then clammed up again as he saw his hook and climbing thread hanging out of his bag.

 _Was it all a dream?_

Deep in his heart, he held to the thought that it hadn't been a dream. That it was a look at them both, brought back to full-size. It was hard to credit that, especially since both brothers seemed shocked to spot someone so small.

But he could keep dreaming.

Dean gave Sam a cocky smile, deciding to shield him from the image of their future selves, battered and hardened with little of the optimism that Sam held inside himself left.

 _He_ would never forget, though.

"Just dreamin' about gettin' grabbed from my climbing string the other day. Nothin' to it."

 **FIN**


End file.
